


The heart goes on

by whowantmuffin



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Far Future, Inspired by Titanic (1997), Manga Timeline, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowantmuffin/pseuds/whowantmuffin
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Sing and Eiji lived after the events of Garden of light? What were their relationships and their families like? We know little about Sing and Akira's elderly life. Consider this story a little glimpse into how they handle an unexpected tragedy. It's not a sad story but not a happy one either. This is life and this is death.And everything was golden and they were together again at last.
Kudos: 7





	The heart goes on

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank @maseratilynx and @hatakelynx on twitter for their help with wording. This wouldn't have been possible without your help! San you are the master of linguistics and the best beta!!!! I'll be grateful forever!
> 
> Also this is a shoutout to @aishakami_ (twt) who drew the amazing black and white Eiji illustration!  
> I edited the other photo (original: kinaphotography, https://kinaph.wixsite.com/kinaphotography )
> 
> This is my first fanfic in english and my first fic in many years. I put my heart and soul into this and I'm so happy it's in a state where I can finally post it!
> 
> English is not my first language so pls look past any mistakes I might have left.
> 
> This work is dedicated to my twitter moots, other fanfic writers (thank you) and my sky kids: Mark & Vita <3

**_August 2033._ **

Worming lines of cars were honking outside, all along the downtown road. On the yellow taxis’ windshields, wiper blades were swinging. A few people were running in a hurry, with and without umbrellas, stepping into gathering puddles. The wind kept blowing and blowing under the dark clouds. Yet, the kitchen lights filled the cozy flat with warmth.

The sound of the dehumidifier and the boiling pasta on the stove was competing with the noise of the raindrops hitting the kitchen window.

Ingredients for a family lunch were lined up on the sleek white counter. Victoria looked through them with care: half-fried chicken breast slices, cut mushrooms, bell pepper and bok choy. 

The woman wondered if the grim weather had made her husband’s job harder. If she had to be honest to herself, at times she felt uneasy, unsure about the world of business, but she trusted the man more than anyone. They lived happily after all, and their two little daughters were the blessings of their lives.

Victoria attached great importance to meals together; she counted them as family activities. This was one of the motivators that inspired her to master the ways of chinese cuisine, this and the warm smile of her husband.

Suddenly, a shaggy-haired little head popped up next to the housewife’s thigh.

“Mommy, mommy! We are building towers! Come and see!” the little girl urged, clinging to her mother’s trousers.

The mother looked down at her with a smile, charmed by the puffy cheeks and glistening brown eyes.“I’m cooking sweetheart, play with your sister. Daddy will come home soon, we’ll show it to him too after lunch, okay?”

“But I wanted to show you now,” she said and sulked for a bit, before tiptoeing to peek at the top of the stove. “What are we going to eat?”

“Chow mein.”

“Okay...”

It was obvious to the mother that her child didn’t know what the meal really was but her youthful interest remained. 

The little girl looked at the blazing electric hob with a curious face, then let go of her mother’s pants. Her small feet were thumping softly on the wooden floor as she was running back to her room. 

“Oh! I think it’s ready now.” On that, the woman brought her silky hair behind her ears and pulled up the sleeves of her shirt to finish the lunch.

Hot steam emerged from the kitchen sink as she filtered the cooked pasta. She mixed the crisp vegetables with the fried chicken strips, covered it with a lid, like she did the pasta then checked her phone. 12:42. She wondered when her husband would come home.

She took a look into her daughters’ room; the girls were stacking stuffed animals and building colorful fluffy towers.

“Mine will be the bigger one!” The younger stuck out her tongue while adjusting a plush horse.

“But only because you are smaller so I gave you some of my toys!” the other replied, proud of being 7 years old now, a big girl.

Their mother was smiling as she walked back to the kitchen, where she picked up her phone again. She opened the call log, a finger hovering over the name of her husband for a while, before changing her mind.

“I shouldn’t worry. He’ll be home soon for sure.”

To keep her mind busy in the meantime, she turned on CNN, propped the smartphone against the sugar bowl and started washing the dishes while listening.

A few minutes had passed when a black and white picture filled the screen. The photograph was that of a long haired man, standing in front of the huge doors of a white building; the opening ceremony of a gallery. The gentleman wore glasses and was smiling respectfully, but his eyes glided above the camera.

_“Unfortunately, we just received some terrible news and have a mournful announcement to make. On this day, August 11th, Saturday 2033... New York’s famous Japanese photographer passed away.”_

As these words echoed in the kitchen, a shining glass collided with a bowl in the dishwater, spreading rainbow colored shards under the water. The downpour beyond the walls of the apartment was muffled by the shower of tears.

* * *

“I’m looking for the world’s most adorable wife and the two most beautiful daughters!” was the greeting that came along the sound of the closing front door. Qing swiped the cold water drops from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was a bit tired - although more mentally than physically -, but he knew his daughters’ giggling would immediately revive him. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” The kids were running to launch themselves into the arms of their soaked wet father. After a tight and damp hug, Qing hung his jacket. As he looked around their traditional flat, he sensed some sort of anxiety. He tried to find a way to be of help so he pressed a kiss on his wife’s cheek and set the dining table.

“Thank you,” the woman mumbled.

The lunch went by quietly compared to the usual affray.

“Once again, your cooking is delicious!” the husband winked at his wife before turning to the children, “the first to finish lunch is my little angel!

“Me! Me!”

“No, I will be the little angel!” the younger one hurried.

“Don’t choke on it,” their mother chuckled. Intense brown eyes on her left were looking at every expression of her face.

“Something’s bothering you,” Qing hugged his wife’s waist as he caught up with her on their way to their bedroom.

His implied question remained without any answer.

“Tell me! I’ll listen. What is it?”

A deep sigh broke up from his lover’s lips, and was quickly followed by the shaking of her shoulders as she turned around and leaned on his chest and began to cry.

“The news, on the news…” Victoria was struggling to form a proper sentence, but Qing just waited for her to go on, and listened patiently. “You know... Deep down, I knew this would come. So why was I still surprised just now?” she sniffed. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry!”

These few sentences were enough for the husband to realize what had happened. His face enlightened with understanding, before turning into tormented wrinkles as he hugged his wife closer.

“It's okay, it’s okay. It was inevitable. At some point everyone has to...”

They quietly cried together for what seemed hours.

“You always talked about the times he was looking out for you, and how often your family visited him. The two of them looked inseparable. I know you loved him, I did too. And we…” 

“We haven’t even called him in months,” the man finished his wife’s sentence,” to ask how he’s been. Even when I knew how important it was to father...” It all clicked only at that moment. “What am I going to say to father?” He glanced down at Victoria, with a concerned look in his eyes. “They already know it, right?”

“Well, only if they watched the news.”

“You know, that father can’t keep up with tech nowadays.” The man's laughter was bittersweet.

“Yeah...” 

“I haven’t seen their brand new TV turned on even once.”

“Akira’s plants are covering the screen anyway.”

“They are literally buried under those leaves,” he approved. “At least they have a hobby, right?”

They embraced each other even tighter.

“I will call my parents first thing in the morning,” he whispered in a low and calming voice.

The woman pulled away from her lover. Desperate fire was burning in her hazel eyes. “What? Do you want to tell them now?”

“Would you rather wait?”

"Well… yeah,” but Victoria wasn’t so sure anymore.

“For how long, then? What for?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I don’t know, Qing!”

“Listen, I can’t process it either! Don’t think that it didn’t catch me off guard!”

“How do you think your parents will take this? What if this breaks him for _good_?”

“Hush! Please, don’t even say this! They aren’t teenagers; if anyone can be prepared for this kind of situation, it’s them.”

“It’s still unbelievable that we learned about it from the news. Maybe he should have lived closer…” She let out a deep sigh. 

“I don’t think we would have visited him more often either way,” the husband murmured sadly. “We all have our own lives.

Your father wrote to him, didn’t he?” she attempted a timid smile.

“Yeah, they exchanged some letters last summer. And talked sometimes on the phone too.” Their heartbeats echoed in each other’s chests as they hugged again. “Eiji oji-san was never alone. My father made sure of it.” Qing swept away his tears with the back of his hand. “Come on, it’s getting late. Let’s go to bed.” He took his wife by the hand. "Tomorrow is a new day. Crying barefoot in the hallway won’t change anything.”

The woman stood on her tiptoes to kiss the man’s wet eyelashes.

* * *

The sound of flip flops clapped on the mint colored bathroom tiles. The white light of fluorescent lamps illuminated the room with a click.

“Why are you turning on the lights in the morning?” a question came from the living room.

“So I can see!”

The lady filled up her red watering can for the third time from the bathroom sink. To cover the sound of the splashing tap-water, the old man in the living room turned up the volume of the radio standing on the coffee table. A scratchy but loud melody announced the morning news broadcast.

_"Let’s continue with today’s news, on August, 12th, Sunday 2033, 10 o’clock.”_

The lady stopped next to the Chinese water bamboo, so she could listen to the news of the expansion works and changed opening hours of the American Museum of Natural History. Both man and woman were focusing, so they could make out the necessary information from the occasionally interrupted recording.

The old man gently kicked the corner of the table with his foot clothed in cotton socks, which made the grey radio shake and ended up clearing the sound.

“ _The Mayor of New York announced the opening of a reminiscent photo exhibition starring the early works of the recently deceased photographer, Eiji Okumura, to honour his memory. The renowned photographer passed away peacefully yesterday in his sleep, at the age of 67, in his countryside home. He had moved back to Japan, his homeland, in 2027, where he commemorated the everyday life of the local youth. Unfortunately, the majority of these works remained undisclosed. It is said he left America in the search of his own youth, when he moved-_ ”

The broadcast was cut off. The radio was now crackling quitely, laid face down on a faded carpet. Elegiac silence settled in the stuffy room. A water droplet tapped on the worn wooden floor, and another on the lap of the elderly gentleman. As the sky shook outside, an abrupt wind gust shut the window closed. Akira put down the watering can and hurried to the window to turn the handle.

“Sing...” The old woman shifted towards the man, but he put up his hand, silencing her.

* * *

Jasmine tea was warming up on the stove when the kitchen was disturbed by the sudden ringing of the phone.

“I’ll answer!” Akira hurried and Sing turned his gaze towards their enormous window whilst exhaling loudly.

”Hello, dear! How are you?” she greeted their son on the other side of the line. Then the void swallowed every sound in the apartment. It devoured the thoughts and compressed the chest of the elderly couple.

“Yes, we heard it,” the tired voice hushed after a seemingly endless break.

 _“They say… I’ve read that he was smiling,”_ the man on the other end of the phone broke into tears.

“Don’t you want to talk to them?” Akira whispered to her husband. 

Sing shook his head in answer to the question addressed to him.

“I can’t. Not... not now.” He was eyeing the book laying on the coffee table with his glistening wet eyes. A ribbon peeking from the pages of _The Snows of Kilimanjaro_ marked that the reader had not reached the end of the short story collection yet.

“I see that your patience is not endless either. You could at least have let me say goodbye to him in person,” Sing hummed, mouth stretching into a faint bittersweet smile. He laid his soaked glasses on top of the book, rose from his claret, shabby armchair, slid his feet into list slippers and shuffled towards their bedroom.

His wife talked with their son for long long minutes, sharing memories, consoling each other. By the time they hung up, Sing was standing next to the coat rack by the front door, wearing a dark grey suit and his freshly polished black patent leather shoes.

“It will rain soon!”

“I know,” Sing was already pulling on the sleeve of his nicest coat.

“I could go with you,” Akira offered.

“I know,” he finally smiled, “but it’s not necessary.”

“...I love you,” she said as a farewell.

“I love you too. I’ll be back soon.” He barely finished his sentence when the wild wind shut the door.

Sing Soo-Ling buttoned up his coat to his neck to fight the strong wind, covered his mouth with a beige scarf and pushed his hat onto his head. He was pacing around for some time in front of the bus stop, before getting on the first vehicle that came.

It was August, the middle of August. The week before, a 100 degrees Fahrenheit heat wave had been raging, and today everyone was covering up under the howling wind and the dark clouds spitting water.

During the bus ride, Sing was beaming at the lined up spectacles of New York as if he was a tourist seeing everything for the first time. It all seemed a bit foreign. Distant. As if he was looking at the past beyond the dust-covered windows of the bus. Youngsters were kicking an empty cola can around, in the cover offered by a shop’s eaves. Was the old man missing his own youth, or the old friends and acquaintances from that time? Did he even have kind memories, not grim and threatening?

"May I?” A young man’s voice teared him away from the fog of nostalgia. The Asian boy was looking at the empty seat next to him.

"Oh, of course!” Sing pulled together his coat. The young man sat down there and his friend stood by him, gripping the backrest of the seat. They smiled at each other. Sing was watching them from the reflection on the window.

"Your hair got wet,” the blonde boy mumbled, twisting a black lock of hair of his friend around his finger. Maybe they weren’t just _friends_ , then.

Mr. Soo-Ling got off the bus a few stops later, and stepped into a flower shop. Once he found what he wanted, only a short walk from there separated him from his destination.

The New York Public Library rose above the passers-by with grandeur. Sing collected himself with a deep breath before he walked with decisive steps to the building. A few after-images flashed.

Wooden furniture, refined decorative elements and lines of rooms and stairs following each other led the way, at last, to the Rose Reading Room.

* * *

Freshly and healthily shone the long grown grass in the small garden. The cherry tree, full to the brink with overripe fruit, was supported by two old bamboo chairs. Bees were bustling amongst the flowers of the backyard, letting a lazy cat rest in the shades.

The swinging of the wind chimes hanging on the gutter testified to a waft soothing the summer heat. The sliding door of the engawa was slightly open so the lively air could roam the house freely. Inside, pictures were standing on absolutely every shelf and flat surface. On a cupboard on the right: a puppy covered in a blanket; in the next frame, the same dog was laying on his back, in front of someone’s feet.

The phone was set on a small table, next to a few photos of flowers and birds. Magnet shaped like the Statue of Liberty stuck the picture of a boy and his father to the fridge. A cold bowl of rice was placed on the round table which stood between two kitchen chairs. A similar bowl soaked in the sink. In the corner of the countertops, two different colored plastic frames were standing, capturing the image of teenagers: the first one was taken in a bar, and the second in front of a graffiti coated brick wall.

Wherever you looked, a figure appeared repeatedly in the pictures. He had blonde hair, lean physique, torn jeans were hanging on his hips and he only looked at the camera occasionally – these were stolen moments of life.

A desk was pushed to the wall of the bedroom. On it, a pale red, shabby omamori and a yellow flower in a plain glass were set. Bursting wind whipped up a photo from the desk, spinned it in the air and then left the room. The picture was swaying while descending slowly, finally landing on the white bedsheet. It was resting there in peace, just like the old man laying next to it, sighing quietly. Wrinkly fingers shuddered a bit, and the man’s quilt rose up as he took his last breath.

* * *

Every breath hitched.

Time stood still.

The empty, echoing reading room was coated with blue murk, as if the enormous windows were shutting out the outside world. The finely polished stone slabs on the floor were slightly shining as the interior was broadening with receding walls. The lamps on the reading tables stood in abadoned rows, until the boy’s eyes caught a figure bending over the table.

At first, the only lit lamp was the one directed on the book held by the young man. The light was glimmering on his blonde hair, and he folded the corner of a page so he could close the book and finally look up.

Fulminant, jade colored pair of eyes met deep, warm brown – and at that very moment the whole world came to life.

With dull clicks, the aligned lamps all lit up one by one, starting from the farthest one to the closest, in an escalating pace. The surface of the desks reflected the stream of light towards the ceiling. The building walls were illuminated brick by brick, as if a miraculous flame was igniting them. White wind was soaring at the sides of the room, dispersing the black fog covering the windows and rushing towards the Japanese boy standing there, and looking at the other young man.

Below the teary eyes of the blonde boy, his smile was so wide that it was reaching his ears. Golden specks of dust were dancing in the stream of light and dressed everything they sat on with glitter.

Eiji’s foot touched the ground with his first step, and it felt like sinking into soft clouds.

"Ash,” he whispered mostly to himself, but the other boy heard him clearly and whispered back.

"Eiji…”

Their quiet laughter bounced back from every object filling the space, echoing in the huge room.

As Eiji took his next step, a melody started, like a piano hidden among the sequence of chairs and desks. Ash stepped forward, and his movements stirred the powder in the air, which settled down like gold veil on multiple silhouettes of human forms. The fresco of the ceiling opened up to make space for an emerging warm sunlight, and a silent singing fell under from the lips of carved angels.

"Ash?” Eiji said again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, I’m here.” The blonde boy smiled and spread his arms wide, yearning for the long awaited reunion.

"Ash!” Ebony black hair fluttered as if it were blown by summer breeze as Eiji rushed to his lover. In the meantime, the figures made from smoke became recognizable faces, all their features progressively outlined.

Max and Jessica were looking at the happy reunion while leaning on each other. Shorter hung his glasses in the pocket of his vest. Skip was laughing loud and, in the background, Yut Lung couldn’t contain his smile despite his best efforts. A golden retriever dog was zig-zagging between humans and furniture.

The wet lines grazing the cheeks of the Japanese boy rolled like pearls.

Griffin reassuringly grabbed his little brother’s shoulder, and whispered:

"Go already!” And with a gentle and friendly push, he accelerated the happenings.

Ash began to run and Eiji's legs hastened. The library’s reading room was slowly filled by both familiar and unfamiliar souls.

Two bodies collided with force, thus merging their very being. The two boys squeezed each other hard while laughing and burying their teary cheeks into the other’s shoulder.

"Ash.”

"Eiji… Eiji... God, I missed you so much.”

"Then what should _I_ say?” Eiji pushed himself out of the hug, but he didn’t seem angry for more than a second. "I thought I would never see you again.”

"But I’m here,” his lover reassured him at last. Ash lifted his hand and cupped the Japanese boy’s cheeks with his palm.

Eiji leaned into the touch, smiling.

"That’s all?” Shorter put his hands around his mouth, mimicking a bullhorn, and yelled into the air. "We didn’t all gather together only for _this_!”

" _Shut your face!_ You’re ruining the moment!” the blonde yelled back. Laughter erupted all over, but the two young boys shut out the outside world. "I love you _so much._ ” Ash leaned towards Eiji, who chuckled at the same time, fighting tears.

"I love you too,” he hummed, looking into the jade pair of eyes.

They felt each other’s breaths on their skin. Eiji stood on tippy toes, folding his arms around Ash’s neck, before their lips locked with the excitement stirred by many long years apart. The kiss was light as a blossom and sweet like honey, until their tongues intertwined and danced with ever-growing hunger.

Cheering, clapping, music and every sound of happiness surrounded them in the room. The monumental chandeliers blasted yellow sparkles as they lit up and the blinding light dazzled every eye. One word was written in the wind.

_Always._

* * *

Sing looked up at the blue clouds depicted on the ceiling fresco. _So this was the last thing Ash Lynx, the tameless gang leader, saw in his life. I know you both are happier now that you are together. Happy Birthday, Ash! And goodbye dear Eji._

The old man picked up his hat from his lap, and straightened his back before getting up slowly. With sluggish but ever so strong steps, he made his way towards the exit door and didn’t look back.

Outside, the rain seemed to have stopped, since an orange colored sunbeam wrapped the furniture of the library in light again.

A single red rose was left behind, set on the table facing the chair n°349.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you agree that Eiji's bedroom was full of memories he made along his life? All his achievements and everything he loved and was proud of. He did everything he knew Ash would be proud of too. He always thought about how Ash would want the best for him and would support him throught every hardship, this is what drove him and gave him strength.


End file.
